


My Boyfriend Calls Me Daddy, Too

by cydonic



Series: Flowers in our Eyes [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bad Dirty Talk, Blow Jobs, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Explicit Sexual Content, Hair-pulling, M/M, Shameless Smut, Spanking, Top Steve Rogers, daddy Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-07-10 09:44:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19903708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cydonic/pseuds/cydonic
Summary: As a father, you get used to being called Daddy. Just not by your boyfriend.Post-Home Is Wherever I'm With You.





	My Boyfriend Calls Me Daddy, Too

**Author's Note:**

> WELL y'all asked for it so here it is. Finally, we get to hear Daddy in a non-innocent context.
> 
> Thank you everyone who followed HIWIWY and asked for this, I love y'all and your comments so much. 😭 If you're someone who just wound up here for the Daddy Kink you could probably read this but it'll make more sense if you tackle the mammoth original first just saying (that one also has art!)
> 
> Thanks for the beta-ing and cheerleading, Hannah! 💖
> 
> PS. Come yell at me on Twitter [@_cydonic](https://twitter.com/_cydonic)

"Daddy's home!"

Steve hears the triumphant cry through the door as he's sliding his boots off. It's been a long day - a large, detailed mural and a tight deadline have seen him working in the same office since before eight that morning.

The backdoor clicks open before he gets his dirty shoes all the way off, and then Amelia is wrapping her arms around him. Emma's not far behind, a menace on two legs if there ever was one.

And there's Bucky, leaning against the dining table, dinner made. Steve appreciates him trying, and the kids - judging by their spaghetti sauce-covered faces - enjoyed it. Though he protested for weeks that he couldn’t cook and that he’d poison the girls simply by trying, things have gone incredibly well.

"Big day, Daddy?" Bucky asks once he comes inside, and Steve feels his stomach drop.

Being a father has made him immune to hearing Daddy, particularly in the context of wanting. 

_'Daddy, can we have a puppy?'_

_'Daddy, can Monica come over and play?'_

_'Daaaaaaaddy!'_

But is he immune to Bucky, eyes raking over him, smirk on his lips, saying those words?

Steve, flustered, immediately retreats to the bathroom to shower. And thank God Bucky installed locks when he did, because Steve wants to be alone with his shame. It shouldn't be so hot, the word dripping off his partner's lips. Steve's two fists - one around his cock, the other jammed in his mouth - beg to differ.

\---

When he returns to the dining room, freshly showered and still glowing pink (from the hot water, of course), the place is practically spotless. Steve knows from experience that children and spaghetti is never a pain free experience, but here it is: completely clean, no remnants of red sauce on the floor, just two bowls waiting patiently for them.

Bucky appears after he does, Emma curled up in his arms. She’s freshly bathed - the stains are gone from her cheeks - and dressed in one of her snuggliest onesies. She’s got droopy eyes and is snuffling vacantly against Bucky’s chest.

If the Daddy thing hadn’t been enough to do him in, seeing Bucky being so _paternal_ sure would. Steve knows there’s no way he can get away with a second shower, but his dick is making a good argument to give it a go.

“Amelia’s had her story and she’s in bed,” Bucky says, quietly, with a knowing look in his eye. Was Steve really _that_ long in the shower? “And this little one’s about to drop off any second now.” He settles opposite Steve, rearranging Emma so he has one arm free to twirl the spaghetti around his fork.

“Thanks for cooking,” Steve manages, still not trusting his voice. It breaks a little, to add insult to the injury of his embarrassing evening. He digs into the spaghetti - a little cold, but that’s parent life for you.

Bucky smiles, resting his foot atop Steve’s under the table. “Anything for you, Daddy.”

Steve promptly chokes on his dinner, his face burning brighter than before.

\---

Steve isn’t sure where the Daddy thing started, but now that he’s noticed he can’t _un_ notice it. Bucky usually does it when the girls are around, because the three of them collectively refer to him as Daddy, but it’s that small smirk and knowing look that does him in. Steve’s never showered so much in his damn life, and the cold water does _nothing_ to get the image of Bucky’s teasing grin out of his mind. The only thing that appeases the ridiculously _horny_ part of his brain is to partake in what has become a daily shame-wank.

It’s bad.

He shouldn’t be turned on by that. It’s not like he gets turned on when the girls do it - because that’s _disgusting_ , they’re _children_ . It’s not like he finds it arousing when other people do it, like the lady who takes care of Emma when he goes to work once a week calling, _“Daddy’s here!”_ when he goes to pick her up. He just smiles and takes Emma off of her and that’s the end of that. Shopkeepers say to Amelia all the time, _“where’s your Daddy, sweetheart?”_ because her favourite sport is running off, and he doesn’t have the sudden urge to fuck them.

It’s just Bucky.

And Bucky knows _exactly_ what he’s doing.

Steve’s not an idiot, and Bucky isn’t exactly subtle. Since the first time he’d panicked and retreated to the bathroom, Bucky has made a habit of calling him Daddy as much as physically possible. Sometimes he does it when they’re out for a walk, and Steve has to stop himself from dragging the man behind a tree somewhere and leaving Amelia in charge of Emma’s wellbeing (a Very Bad Idea). He does it when they’re at the shops, his hand wandering into Steve’s back pocket as he says, “ _Daddy_ , we ran out of Cheerios,” in a voice low enough that no one else can hear but Steve.

When it comes to sexual frustration, Steve has reached an absolute peak, and he’s getting laid with consistency. As soon as they’re in the bedroom, clothes off and cocks placed in some part of the other’s anatomy, Bucky doesn’t say a _goddamn_ thing except to call him Steve. Sometimes a pet name, like baby or sweetheart. Never Daddy. That’s the one thing that he leaves _out_ of the bedroom, when Steve desperately wishes he would bring it _in_.

So the responsibility falls to him. It’s his time to make things happen. Of the two of them, Bucky is more sexually forward - he is the most experienced, after all. But Steve has learned a thing or two about Bucky since they started sleeping together. He’s learned how pulling Bucky’s hair makes his eyes roll back into his head, and how he loves to be pushed around a little. He knows the noises Bucky makes when he’s close, and if it wasn’t for his own pleasure-chasing tendencies he’d know _exactly_ when to rein things in for maximum suffering - on Bucky’s part, at least.

Since they started living together, they’ve never had a night to themselves. Steve and Bucky are _very_ good at being quiet, and are also extremely consistent when it comes to locking all doors behind them. 

Steve, out of the kindness of his heart, arranges a sleepover for Emma and Amelia at Aunty Sharon’s house. He makes a point of _not_ telling Bucky this, instead letting him go off to work with Thor - his not-so-temporary temporary job - and texting to say he’d be picking Amelia up from school so he didn’t need to worry.

Steve should feel bad that he pulls his daughter out of school early just so he can get her out of the way for a night he plans on fucking his boyfriend into the mattress so hard it breaks, but they’re called priorities. He’s sure she can catch up on Maths later - Bucky’s a good tutor, among other things.

When Bucky comes home that afternoon, sweaty and dirty from a day of labour, Steve’s sitting at the dining table waiting for him. He may also be about to vibrate out of his skin and ascend to another plane of existence, but he thinks he covers that up well.

Bucky, evidently unaware that it is only Steve in the house, smirks at him and says, “you’re home early today, Daddy.”

Steve, with all of the self-control he can muster, looks Bucky over very slowly. He knows he’s blushing, because he _still_ doesn’t have a handle on that, but fuck it. Once he makes it down Bucky’s body, lingering at some of his favourite spots, he looks the other man in the eye. “And you’ve been a very naughty little boy, haven’t you?” He asks, standing from his seat, hoping to evoke an air of dominance.

Bucky looks - well, he looks the way Steve thinks he looks when Bucky calls him Daddy. Eyes wide. Cheeks dusted with just the right amount of pink under the smears of dirt. “What?” He manages, spluttering eloquently.

Steve crowds into Bucky’s space, inhaling the scent of him. _God_ , Bucky smells good when he’s sweaty. “You,” Steve begins, sliding a hand into Bucky’s hair and using that to pull his head back, revealing the tanned column of his neck. Working in the sun has been good to him. “Have been very naughty,” he repeats, then licks a line straight up to Bucky’s jaw, nipping the space just below his ear.

Bucky shudders in his arms. “Jesus _Christ_ , Steve,” he breathes.

“What happened to Daddy?” Steve presses, and something seems to click in Bucky’s brain at that.

Bucky’s hands grab onto Steve’s hips, pulling them in close. Steve can feel his erection against Bucky’s. They’re in this together. “Daddy,” Bucky says, in a low growl, grinding himself against Steve. “Should we be doing this in the kitchen?”

Steve uses his hand in Bucky’s hair to shift his head again, offering Steve the perfect angle to kiss Bucky so hard he forgets his own name. Bucky’s quiet - a useful habit, Amelia has an inhuman sense of hearing - until Steve yanks on his hair hard enough to earn a moan. He tries to stop himself, but it’s too late. Steve swallows the sound down, pulling on Bucky’s bottom lip and biting. All he wants to do is turn Bucky around and fuck him right here, over the dining table, but he didn’t drive all the way to Sharon’s house for a quickie in his own damn kitchen.

“It’s just you and me tonight,” Steve says once they separate, taking in Bucky’s flushed cheeks, glassy eyes, and the swell of his well-bitten bottom lip. His other hand drifts down to squeeze Bucky’s ass through his jeans. “And there’s a lot of naughty things you have to make up for.”

If Bucky weren’t so turned on, Steve would expect him to laugh in his face. He’s not an expert at dirty talk - most of the time they just moan _“ah”_ and _“fuck”_ quietly enough between each other.

But Bucky _is_ turned on, and Steve feels the full-body shiver that goes through him. “Tell me what to do, Daddy,” he says - he almost begs - and Steve won’t lie, he could come in his pants just from this.

“Take your clothes off,” Steve instructs, mouth going ahead of his brain - which is stuck on _coming in his pants_ at present - trying to look disdainfully at Bucky, as if he isn’t the love of his entire damn life. 

Bucky follows Steve’s orders so quickly that Steve can’t even enjoy the show. One moment he’s there, dirty jeans and shirt on, the next he’s naked. Talk about efficiency. 

Steve takes a second to admire Bucky’s body, the freckles that have sprung up along his arms and face, the summer tan that persists despite the sunscreen that he wears. He’s already rock hard, cock upright and leaking against the hairs along his navel. 

_You did not do all of this for a quickie in the kitchen, Steven._

“That’s a good boy,” Steve says, getting control of his voice back, and Bucky lets out a sigh. Steve brushes some hair back from his face, drags his nails along his jaw, thumbs at his lower lip. Bucky nips at it softly. “On your knees.”

Again, Bucky responds before Steve can fully process the command his given. Bucky kneels on the linoleum that he’s been talking about replacing for a good two months now, looking up at Steve through his lashes, biting down on his bottom lip in a parody of innocence. “What would you like me to do, Daddy?” Bucky asks in a gravelly voice, wrapping his hands around Steve’s sweats-clad thighs. He gives them a squeeze, nuzzling his cheek against his obvious bulge.

“I want you to make Daddy feel good,” Steve says, and though referring to himself in the third person is strange, the effect it has on Bucky is worth it.

His hands scramble to pull Steve’s pants and briefs down to mid-thigh, prioritising putting his mouth to work over completely stripping Steve off. Steve can’t argue with that. Bucky’s mouth is good for two things: dropping _Daddy_ into innocent conversations, and killing all of Steve’s functioning brain cells. 

Bucky wastes no time getting his mouth on his cock. There’s no preamble, no teasing licks or strokes - one moment there’s the warm air on his dick, the next he’s surrounded by the wet heat of Bucky’s mouth. Steve stumbles back a pace, one hand grabbing the dining table to support him, the other fisting in Bucky’s hair again. “Good boy,” Steve groans out, Bucky setting a _relentless_ pace from the get-go. “ _God_ , the mouth on you. That’s what gets you into trouble, isn’t it baby?” Steve isn’t sure _what_ he’s saying because his brain, as mentioned, doesn’t function when Bucky’s mouth is near his dick. It’s impossible. But Bucky's moan vibrates through Steve's entire body via his cock, so he must be doing something right.

He tilts Bucky’s head back enough to give himself a better angle, hips jerking forward unbidden. Bucky takes it like a champ, swallowing down Steve’s thrusts with ease. “Look at you, my little boy,” Steve’s hand reluctantly shifts from Bucky’s hair, down to cup his face - to feel his own hardness through those hollowed-out cheeks. “So good at making Daddy happy.”

It takes Steve a moment to notice that Bucky, as he’s sucking him off, has a hand on his own dick. Steve watches, entranced, as Bucky runs his thumb over the slit and then slides his fist around his entire length. He wants to watch Bucky come like that, naked, on his knees, devoted to pleasuring Steve. 

Maybe he can save that for tomorrow.

“Stop,” Steve says, and Bucky ignores him. Steve - cursing himself internally - pulls Bucky’s head back. A string of saliva and pre-come joins Bucky’s mouth to his cock, even as he rocks back on his feet. “Up,” he instructs, breathless. Before Bucky can even process that command, though, Steve’s yanking him upright. Bucky stumbles a little, but Steve’s already forcing his tongue into his mouth before he’s even got his breath back. He takes from Bucky all the taste of himself, warm and bitter, the sloppy kiss leaving both their faces wet.

Bucky’s hands slide their way under Steve’s shirt, and he grabs them and pushes them down. While Steve’s thinking about it, he - much to the chagrin of his now-neglected cock - pulls his pants back up. 

Bucky whines. Then he looks Steve in the eye and whines again, only this time instead of a high-pitched noise, it’s a long, drawn out, “ _Daaaady_ ,” the type to rival Amelia’s when she’d been devoted to getting a pet snake.

“You’re filthy, little boy,” Steve says, drawing a thumb through a smudge of dirt on Bucky’s cheekbone. “You need to shower.”

Bucky lets out a shuddering breath, still pressed close to Steve, leaving a wet patch on his shirt from his leaking cock. Steve’s pants are not faring much better, either. “A cold shower,” Steve clarifies, and Bucky groans.

“I don’t want a shower, Daddy,” Bucky complains, hands back on Steve’s hips - just waiting, not stripping him off. “I want to make you feel good,” he leans in and kisses Steve’s jaw, from the bottom of his ear to the point of his chin. “Please, Daddy.” 

“Shower,” Steve manages to stick to his words, somehow, channeling the strength he draws up for when Amelia and Emma don’t want to have a bath. “You can put on a show for me in there,” he adds, smirking. Bucky grinds up against Steve before disappearing into the house, swaying his hips as he goes.

Steve watches his ass for a moment - wants to sink his teeth into it - but he doesn’t. He just follows Bucky down the hallway, his naked form like a siren call.

In the bathroom, Bucky waits beside the shower, looking Steve up and down. Then, in his best childish voice, says, “could you turn it on for me?”

Steve does so - keeps the water on the uncomfortably cold side of lukewarm, hand under the spray. Bucky goes to step in, and Steve stops him with a hand on his chest. He wraps his fingers around a nipple for good measure - he was already in the area, after all. “While you’re in there, you’re going to clean up,” Steve starts, gently massaging Bucky’s nipple to hardness, “and once you’ve done that, you’re going to open yourself up. But I want you to make it good for, Daddy. If you do that, maybe Daddy will give you what you want.” His other hand wraps around Bucky’s dick, gives it one firm jerk, then releases.

Bucky is not often rendered speechless, but Steve looks at him, gaping, and feels a sense of accomplishment. Without further protest, Bucky steps into the shower. The cold water makes goosebumps rise on his bared flesh, a shiver runs down his spine, but he doesn’t complain. Steve leaves the room long enough to get the lube, placing it on the shower caddy, before leaning against the bathroom counter to watch.

Even though Bucky is washing himself in a perfunctory way, the means to an end, Steve can’t help but watch the display with keen interest. Each part of Bucky is perfect - his muscles built for function, not form, the paler parts of him that only Steve is able to touch and kiss and worship. He turns and wets his hair, and Steve isn’t an idiot, he knows Bucky keeps it long so Steve will tug on it. He wets it now but doesn’t wash it, because when it dries it does so in soft curls, and Steve can’t help himself from finger-brushing them at every opportunity. Steve knows how those fingers feel on every part of his body, and he wishes he were in there, washing Bucky himself. He’d draw the washcloth over his groin, fingers _accidentally_ brushing against his persistent erection. Steve would trace the constellation of freckles along his shoulders with his teeth and tongue as his hands stroked over the trail of hair that runs from navel to the base of his cock.

It takes Bucky a minute to wash, and in that time Steve’s started to massage himself through his sweats. He turns to look at Steve through the glass and smirks. “You better not finish too early, Daddy,” Bucky says, sweetly, as he turns the shower head so the spray is mostly hitting the wall. Then he grabs the lube and slicks up his fingers. 

Steve asked for a show, he knows that, but when Bucky rests one forearm on the tiled wall and turns his entire ass to Steve, he nearly cums then and there. His eyes are glued to Bucky’s fingers. They pull at one cheek, revealing the wet, clean hole there. Slowly he starts to circle it, not even pressing in. Bucky’s turned to look over his shoulder on purpose, and he’s putting on the most dramatic facial expressions: his mouth open in a wide _o_ , his eyes squeezed closed in pleasure.

Steve, though his mental functions are entirely gone, tries to remember if Bucky ever worked in porn because _this_ is the best show he’s ever seen and it’s barely even started.

Then Bucky slides a finger in and moans, lewdly, the sound echoing in the bathroom. He fingers himself, slowly at first, exaggerating the noises of pleasure. Steve can’t decide where he wants to stare: at Bucky’s ass or at his face, so he alternates between the two. 

When Bucky slides a second finger in, he starts to talk to Steve. “Oh, _Daddy_ ,” he groans, thrusting back on his own fingers. “ _Daddy_ , I need you,” he keeps going, voice breaking on _need_ , “I need your big, hard cock. Daddy, _please_ , I need you to fuck me. I know I’ve been a bad boy, but I can make it up to you. Please, _Daddy_.” Where previously Bucky had been staring off into the distance, he now meets Steve’s eyes and bites down on his bottom lip so hard it might draw blood.

The action also sees Steve flinging open the shower door (fuck it, he lives with a handyman, and if it broke it would _technically_ be Bucky’s fault) and yanking Bucky out. He’s barely got his third finger in, but he squeals - actually _squeals_ \- in delight as Steve manhandles him from the shower and into the bedroom. He’s dripping water everywhere, grinning at Steve like it’s Christmas morning, and Steve is about to lose his damn mind.

Steve throws Bucky to the bed, and the other man lays where he lands, splayed out with his ass in the air.

So, naturally, Steve grabs his hips and pulls them up. He slides a pillow underneath, ignoring how they’re soaking all of their bedding. Once Bucky’s hips are locked in position, Steve runs a hand over the curve of one ass cheek.

“You’re going to make it up to me, huh?” Steve asks, still stroking over Bucky’s ass. It’s damp and slippery, and Steve can feel Bucky rolling his hips into the pillow to get some friction. Guess the cold shower really didn’t do anything. Almost like the hundred cold showers Steve’s taken in the past two weeks failed to help him with his problems.

“Yeah,” Bucky breathes, hands fisting in the sheets. “C’mon, Stevie - _Daddy_.” He wriggles his ass up into Steve’s hand, as if to remind him what he’s doing.

It hadn’t previously come up when Steve fantasised about this - and he did a _lot_ of fantasising - but now that Bucky’s here, ass in the air, it feels only right. “I dunno, baby boy,” Steve says, stroking a hand lovingly down to Bucky’s thigh, “I think maybe you deserve a spanking. Then I can give you what you want.”

The _sound_ Bucky makes gives Steve a pretty strong indication that a spanking is _exactly_ what he wants. So Steve obliges. He’s never spanked anyone before - he doesn’t spank his kids, it just isn’t his parenting style - but it can’t be too hard, right? 

Bucky’s still writhing under his hands, so instead of overthinking it Steve cups his hand a little and strikes him - middle-force, right on the underside of his ass. Bucky lets out a gasp, turning his head to the side so he can breathe a bit easier. Steve looks at the spot he spanked, already pinking up a little. Bucky pushes his ass up, and Steve takes the signal to hit him again. And again. And again, until the spot he’s picked is turning a deeper red.

Steve lifts his hand to Bucky’s face, and it takes a few moments for him to draw his focus back to the present. He puts away the strange Daddy voice he’s been using, and rubs his thumb along Bucky’s jaw. “This okay?” They’d done hair-pulling and things like that before, but never spanking. He probably should have checked, but he just - got caught up in it. Steve’s fairly sure Bucky likes it - he knows for a fact that _he’s_ enjoying it, because his cock is _throbbing_ with the need for attention.

“Keep going,” Bucky croaks, eyes lidded, and so Steve does.

He evens up the other side of Bucky’s ass, leaving Bucky with two red cheeks, drooling into the bed - from two places - and Steve with a stinging hand. 

Steve leans down and places kisses along Bucky’s spine, from the base of his hairline down to mid-back. “What a good boy,” he croons, stroking his hands lovingly along Bucky’s sides. He shudders where Steve goes, touch teasing the goosebumps back to his damp flesh. “You did so well, baby. Now you can have your reward.”

Bucky says nothing, and Steve has to check that he hasn’t come during the spanking because he’s normally not so quiet and boneless until after orgasm. But Steve’s wandering hand finds Bucky’s dick still there, still ready to go, and he lets out a jagged moan when Steve strokes him. 

“I’ll be back in a minute, little boy,” Steve says, lifting himself off the bed and going to retrieve the lube. He may have accidentally interrupted Bucky’s prep session, but who could blame him? Faced with someone looking _that_ sinful, it would have been a crime to let him continue. Besides, Steve can help him get ready. He’s got hands that need to be put to work.

Steve is back in a flash, clothes discarded on the floor and his body hovering over Bucky’s. He slicks up his fingers and slides two in without preamble. Bucky’s loose enough that all he does is sigh at the contact. Steve slips a third finger in, and he feels the stretch then. Bucky rocks back on his fingers, slowly fucking himself against them, and Steve wants to let him have that pleasure. His own, straining cock is unfortunately not too happy with the idea of _look_ , _don’t touch_. When Steve pulls his hand out, Bucky cries, mourning the loss. Luckily for him, his ass is not going to be left alone for too long.

With the remaining lube on his hand, Steve strokes himself a few times - and God, he is _not_ going to last - before lining himself up. He presses the head of his cock against Bucky’s hole, listening to the airy moans he gets at every contact. “You wanna ask for it, baby? Use your manners? I know you’ve got ‘em.”

Bucky manages to lift himself up onto his forearms, looking over his shoulder at Steve through the damp curtain of his hair. “Please, Daddy,” he begs, in his quietest, most desperate sounding voice yet.

And who would Steve be to deny his boy what he wants? Especially with his good manners.

In Steve’s vision (one of the many) he’d fucked Bucky relentlessly into the bed until he screamed for more. Right now, all he can do is slowly slide into his lover, taking each tiny noise as encouragement. When Steve bottoms out, he waits for a moment, adjusting to being inside Bucky. He places his hands on either side of Bucky’s head, giving him the perfect position to lay kisses across the geography of his upper back.

He remains like that too long, because Bucky jerks his hips up - a clear indicator to _get a move on_ when his mouth-to-brain connection is fried.

Steve sets a slow pace, mostly because he’s _this close_ to losing it and he’s been in Bucky for a mere minute, tops. He pulls halfway out and then slides back in again, enjoying the sounds that come from Bucky everytime he does. It’s easy to lose himself there, the centre of his entire universe narrowed down to the places their bodies touch. Steve leaves tiny kisses across the muscles of Bucky’s back, delighting in the surprised noises he earns at each one.

Steve is a patient man who is very much able to take his time. Bucky, on the other hand, is not. He starts to roll his hips back up to meet Steve’s, arching his back. “Daddy,” Bucky says, and it’s not a fucked-out cry but a request for more. Steve’s _trying_ to take it slow, trying to savour this, but it’s not sustainable.

As Bucky’s breathy moans pick up in volume so too does Steve’s pace. He’s hunched over the other man, panting now, hands fisted in their wet sheets. “God,” Steve says on an exhale, hips snapping against the spanked-red flesh of Bucky’s ass, all semblance of pace flying out the window. “Buck - _baby_ ,” he manages, and his next few thrusts are heralded with nonsensical phrases he can’t remember. 

Bucky is a writhing mess beneath him, jerking his hips against the pillow then fucking himself back against Steve. He’s the one who comes first, body twitching against Steve’s - there are tears leaking out of the corner of his eyes, mouth open after the sounds have all left his body. Steve pauses - his brain does, at least, his hips have a mind of their own - and just _stares_ at the man in his bed.

The man who is equal parts an absolute nightmare, and the love of his _fucking_ life.

Steve’s orgasm hits him so hard, then, that he drops forward onto Bucky, draped over his body, hips stuttering until he’s wrung completely dry. He stays there for too long, blanketing Bucky’s body with his own, until there’s an elbow in his stomach and a noise of complaint.

Though he rolls off Bucky’s body, he takes the other man with him, pulling him against his chest and holding tight to him. His cock is softening, still buried inside Bucky. There’s a buzz in Steve’s head that drowns out all other noise, so all he can hear is his thundering heartbeat and ragged breaths.

Their bed is absolutely wrecked now - it’s wet from a combination of Bucky’s shower, their mingled sweat, saliva, and tears. Probably also some lube. And the pillows that were under Bucky’s hips are _not_ worth talking about.

Steve buries his nose in Bucky’s hair, the wet strands of it tickling his nose. Bucky lays there in Steve’s arms, so quiet and still that Steve suspects he’s fallen asleep. Slowly, he starts to run a hand across Bucky’s hip - up and down, up and down. He feels the other man shiver beneath him, skin dewy. With a satisfied hum, Steve leaves small kisses behind Bucky’s ear - he might mumble something, but he can’t be too sure.

There’s no light in the room - they’d wound up in the bedroom during the late afternoon, and the sun has long since sunk beyond the horizon. It’s dark and Steve shivers, returning to his body after what has to rate in the top five orgasms of his life.

“Stevie,” Bucky mumbles sleepily, grinding his hips back against Steve’s hips just to be a jerk. His dick is exhausted, but it twitches anyway, as if it _might_ be able to muster up the energy for round two. It’s already in position for it. “I’m wet.” 

“Mhm,” Steve agrees, face still in Bucky’s hair. 

“And hungry,” Bucky complains, and now his wriggling against Steve is from discomfort, not in an attempt to pull a second round out of him. “ _And_ I need another shower.”

Steve groans, which is an agreement: he, too, is hungry, and wet, and needs a shower. But words are difficult. Does he move? No. He remains there, spooned around Bucky’s body, enjoying the remnants of afterglow that have clearly left Bucky in a mood to complain. Steve’s brain is occupied trying to commit every single second of their afternoon to memory. It would be good for those times when he’s alone in the shower - fantasies don’t always cut it.

Bucky sighs, then rolls around in Steve’s arms so that they’re face to face. Steve cracks open one sleepy eye to look at Bucky, but in the lowlight it’s hard to make much out. He can see the white of Bucky’s teeth, glowing in the moonlight as he smirks and says, “ _Daddy_ ,” in his best pleading tone.


End file.
